La Violina
by The Oddity
Summary: When Angelica is discharged from the hospital, she must relearn how to use her prosthetics. Luckily, Henrietta is there to help.
1. I

**L A  
V I O L I N A**

The sun shone transversely across the windowpanes of Angelica's stuffy and neutral hospital room, insufficiently uncontained by the blackout curtains that swept exquisitely over it. The light dragged monotonously through the room until they finally ceased upon the young cyborg's diaphanous features. She squirmed as if the light were prodding her indolently in the side. At last, Angelica opened her unforbearing eyes that appeared so like miniscule, faded purple opals, and lifted herself to her arms, gazing around the room with an air of insouciance. It was just as she had left it; plastically white, cold, and filled of next to no expression, as the doctors liked it. Angelica, however, did not

Steadily, the imperative girl dropped down to the floor on her feet, landing with as much grace as a lead-filled snowshoe, an adjective which additionally accumulated how she felt with the sun in her eyes and the frostiness of the bedroom. Her arms and legs were cumbersomely heavy and not at all exceptionally maneuverable; with a pang, she thought about how difficult it would be to retrain herself and get back to work, when the silver-wrought handle of her door clicked and turned, revealing two men in white coats. One was decidedly more friendly than his company, greeting Angelica with a propitious and pleasant smile, as the second man only glared at her through his spectacles, as if she were the remnants of Henrietta's room-clearing, a scene of bloody and horrific devastation.

"Dr. Bianchi..." she said softly. "And... Dr. Gilliani."

"Hello, Angelica," the amiable doctor replied, standing at her bedside with his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. "How are you this morning?"

"Well, I feel all right, for the most part... My limbs are a little heavy," she said, voice delicate and timorous as she rubbed her eye blearily. "Dr. Bianchi, am I going to leave today? I'd really like to see Marco, he hasn't visited for such a long time..." The doctor glanced at his compatriot behind him, who began to nod, slowly. He turned back to Angelica.

"Yes, Angelica, you can leave today."

The young girl's face lit up instantaneously, yet was stifled by a yawn that she had no choice but to let out. Bianchi chuckled, and Angelica looked at him, beaming.

Gilliani, still grimacing darkly, stepped in Bianchi's place at that moment, assuming an expression of superiority as he stared the anything-but-fragile girl he was faced with. The smile disappeared from Angelica's face.

"However," he intoned, "you must relearn how to control your prosthetics. Most unfortunate, but nevertheless mandatory of the cyborgs. It will make learning to control your gun easier for you, and training, _in theory_, will progress more smoothly."

Angelica stared at him, perplexedly. "What...instrument will I play?"

"That is not up to me," Gilliani replied briskly, as if anticipating this question. "Your supervisor can determine that. Most of the cyborgs here can play violin, however."

With that, he departed, Bianchi following out after him.


	2. II

**SYMPHONY II**

There was not much to be had in the hospital, so Angelica decided to leave, taking her clothes in the room with her. Unfortunately, this left her heavily laden with shirts, shoes, pants, socks, dresses and undergarments hung precariously on hangers of varying sizes. She stumbled through the corridor, black shoes clicking against shiny tiled floors with not much else to hear, and the sound filling her sensitive ears so frequently she entirely forgot where she was going and ran into something larger and burlier than herself.

"Ah—!"

Gazing upwards to see whom she'd collided with, Angelica was greeted by the most interesting sight of her supervisor standing over her, hands in his pockets and a glare set upon his face not unlike Dr. Gilliani's from that morning. Stiffly, he offered his hand to her; she accepted it; he pulled her to her feet. Handler and cyborg merely watched one another for a minute.

"...Hello, sir." At once, she dropped to her knees, grabbing clothes by the hangers in one neat bundle, although she still found herself overcome once she straightened up.

Marco stared. "Don't have a suitcase, do you," he commented dryly, dawning apprehension on his tough features.

"N-no, sir," replied the sweet voice muffled by a struggle to carry everything. In a way, Angelica looked somewhat reminiscent of Atlas, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet in this cyborg's case, the world was of a more quality linen sort, and she found it increasingly difficult to keep it all together. Again and again as each pair of undergarments fell and shoes clattered to the ground, Marco did nothing, keeping a critical eye upon her until finally, she balanced her last pair of fallen boots over her shoulder, and addressed him: "Umm... Marco, sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Dr. Gilliani told me...told me that I would have to learn an instrument before I got back to work." At Marco's still-unimpressed face, she continued, "he said I should ask you for what instrument t-to play, as it wasn't up to him..."

"I don't know," the handler said abrasively, shaking his head as if he were brought down by a troubling headache. "Just play the violin or something. I'm sure that there is another one around here somewhere. This place is like a repository for musical instruments." He shuddered with dread at the thought.

It took one shift of Angelica's foot and the shoes dropped from her and hit the floor hackneyed. She groaned, close to visibly weeping at her misfortune, and hurried to grab them all once again.


	3. III

**SYMPHONY III**

It was late noon on the third day of Angelica's discharge from the hospital confines and she was pacing her new solitary dormitory bedroom in careful consideration. The single window gave way to a superlative sunset, of which the young cyborg paused in front of and leaned out, watching the sky above laced with posh pinks and glittering purple hues, the meekest hint of starlight and tiny ivory dots above it. It was a captivating sight that took her mind off her current vexation, and she enjoyed it until something whacked repeatedly on her door and tugged her out of her reverie.

"Come in," she called, soft yet otherwise heard, as the door opened. Henrietta simpered at her fellow comrade, tentatively edging inside the bedroom and clearly concealing something behind her back. Angelica vied to catch a glimpse at the object, yet Henrietta was persistent as usual, moving one way and the other, until Angelica ceased and stared at her brunette friend.

"What are you hiding, Henrietta?" she inquired blankly.

"Ummm... I heard from Giuseppe about how you need to learn how to handle your prosthetics again," Henrietta replied, casting a shy downward gaze at the floor. "So I thought I could help you...with this!" She brought forth a violin with a flourish to the opal-eyed cyborg across the room from her, grinning, expecting a breathtaking gasp of pure, emotional awe and then followed soon by immense gratitude... But none came. Angelica only stared at the musical instrument, perceivably apathetic over her compatriot's fine offering of wanting to help.

"An...instrument," she mumbled. A breeze from the window entered the room and wove through her hair as she said it. Henrietta grinned again.

"_La violina_," she enunciated, brandishing the string instrument like a sword, yet somehow still managing to do it delicately. "I already can play a few songs... You'll start with etudes, though."

"I like violins," Angelica said, smiling. "They sound pretty."

"Then it's decided!" Henrietta exclaimed happily. "...But, this is my violin," she added sheepishly, holding it at eye-level. "I guess Giuseppe and I can go into the city and buy one for you."

Angelica cocked her head to one side, and frowned. "But Marco said that the Agency is full of instruments. Why do we need to buy one for me?"

Henrietta blinked. "Huh? It's not full of instruments. He probably meant guns." She turned around and started towards the door. "Anyway, see you, Angelica!"


	4. IIII

**SYMPHONY IIII**

Diminutive hands wrapped around the drab, unremarkable stock of the Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle, belonging to an acutely small youth with long black tresses and oddities for eyes. The firearm held stark contrast in comparison to this perceivably delicate girl, who always seemed to dress in vibrant clothing when she worked on the field. Her skin was pallid and held the perspicuous look of an individual who had spent too much time indoors rather than out, possibly confined within a dreary bedroom in an infirmary, living a ritualistic life for far too long. Nevertheless, the tint of her hair color complimented the anemic patient appearance, and made her out to look like an adorable porcelain doll.

A porcelain doll with a gun, but never mind that.

Angelica squeezed on the trigger and jerked very slightly, appearing for a split second like an explosive, colorful blur on the range. Her supervisor purveyed her at a distance, arms folded securely and in an almost cynical manner against his chest. Marco had a significantly less extravagant taste in clothing than his charge, but for all the correct reasons.

Another pull of the trigger. Marco's gaze turned austere at Angelica and he strode across the expanse of ground between him and the frontline. She whirled around, black hair flapping in the breeze, watching him with hollow purple eyes and pointing her rifle towards the ground. "Yes, sir?"

"Look at that," he said brazenly, indicating the target beyond. "You've barely managed to even land a shoulder wound. It's pathetic."

Angelica sighed, and avoided meeting the astringent glare she knew was fixed upon her. Marco was so immutably obdurate over her training ever since she disembarked from the infirmary for the second time, she happened to wonder what exactly it was that she'd done wrong by him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'll try harder, Marco. I promise! I just can't really control the prosthetics all that well, since I-I forgot..."

Marco winced as if someone had slapped him. "I told you to practice an instrument. Why haven't you yet?"

"Henrietta stopped by my dormitory and offered to help me play the violin, and—"

"Excuse me, is there a problem?"

Angelica stopped and gazed at Giuseppe and his runty cyborg, Henrietta. The brunette grinned jovially at Angelica, who returned the expression likewise with considerable less gaiety than she even realized.

"There's no problem here except my cyborg's marksmanship, Giuseppe," Marco replied sourly, eyeing the target, which by no means looked anything spectacular for the expectations Angelica was meant to keep up with.

"That's no good reason to chew her out, though," Giuseppe said. "She's only just returned to the field again, can't you give her a break?"

Marco opened his mouth and shut it immediately afterwards, gazing at the pink and lavender-clad girl beside him, though she only stared at her feet. Henrietta was checking her pistol's magazine, innocently unaware of the situation. His eyes traveled over to her.

"...Angelica said you were going to teach her how to play the violin."

The magazine slipped soundly between Henrietta's fingers. She dived aptly to save it from the treacherous ground, straightened back up, and blushed profusely as she slid the magazine in. Marco's expression remained unchanging.

"You," he intoned, "you said to Angelica that you were going to teach her how to play the violin. When?"

"Oh, uhmm... That," Henrietta said sheepishly, smiling. "Well, Giuseppe and I were going to go to the city after practice today and buy a violin for Ange. I guess...I'll start teaching her then? I mean," she added, glancing at Angelica hurriedly, "if she's okay with it."

"Ah!" Angelica looked up and smiled. "Yes, that would be all right."

"Good," Marco muttered detachedly, checking his watch. "Come, Angelica. Practice is over." He headed for the training field exit. The ebony-haired girl he had left behind stuttered for a moment and stood, rooted to the spot.

"Hurry up!"

She gave a voluntary shriek, bid goodbye to Giuseppe and Henrietta, and ran to him.


	5. V

**SYMPHONY V**

In one part of the Social Welfare Agency, there is a spacious, immaculate yet decidedly uninhabited area where nothing sits but an atramentous grand piano. It looks as though it were once a ballroom, for parties or some such, and perhaps an entertainer played the instrument for all to marvel at the elegant sound that would erupt. Now, with the room in the hands of the government, what else would it be good for, than to teach the noble art of instruction?

Angelica's hair was dusky as the piano, falling down a little ways past her shoulders elegantly. She was weary; dust appeared like it had settled on her the moment she walked inside, blurring her ivory skin and giving her the faint impression of a mannequin. And then she tilted her head back, inhaled a quantity of this strange substance, and sneezed.

Small as the "_pshuu!_" was, it echoed throughout the cavernously unlit walls, and Angelica shrieked, collapsing to the ground and only managing to save the violin grasped in her right hand from breaking. She sniffled, got on her knees, and set her instrument down, deciding to sit with her hands folded over the silky front of her dress.

The two oak doors nearest to her opened. She gasped, snapping around to see Claes. For a second, the two girls stared at each other.

"What the... Angelica, what are you doing here?"

"Umm... You see," she began, smiling earnestly, "Henrietta asked me to meet her here. She was going to teach me the violin."

The bespectacled cyborg pursed her lips, and only then did Angelica notice the book she held.

"Did you come here to read, Claes?"

"Ehh?" Claes held up the title and scanned the front cover over, looking certainly hawkish in the glow of the blue-tinted moon. Her eyes traveled upwards and rested upon Angelica, who flinched.

"You know, I did come here to read, actually," she said, with an air of revelation. "Triela was snoring again. Couldn't concentrate for anything." She paged through her book and sighed, shaking her head. "It's past curfew though. So, technically, I shouldn't be out of the dormitory." Silence permeated her words as she paused on a page and read. Angelica watched her circumspectly through a dark curtain of hair.

Conversations and confrontations with Claes were often a terrifying prospect for Angelica. Perhaps it was the girl herself: irascible and surly but mature and wise, of which Angelica felt she paled in comparison to. Out of all the girls at the Social Welfare Agency, Claes's roommate was maybe the only one who could approach her casually without any fear of getting smacked, snapped at, or a combination of the two.

By 11:20, or what would have been 11:20 if either girls had a watch or clock on them, Angelica started to doubt whether Henrietta would be showing or not.

"Do you...think she's going to arrive?" she asked hesitantly. The other girl blinked and lowered the book from her face.

"I don't know."

Angelica sighed dejectedly, shifting on the floor. "...I hope so."

Claes bit her lip and hurriedly hid behind the pretense of her book.

They knew unquestionably that it was twelve o'clock when the only grandfather clock on the entire Agency premises rang out vociferously.

"...I don't think she's coming anymore," the pusillanimously youthful voice mumbled, resentfully rising from the floor and holding herself with the air of a forsakenness. Claes watched her over the top edge of the book.

"I have a question."

Angelica froze and looked to her company quickly. "Uhm, yes? What?"

"Has Henrietta even bothered to teach you the historical value of the violin?"

"His...historic... No, she hasn't."

"Well then," Claes closed her book gently and strolled towards Angelica, who flinched automatically. She leaned in, catching the younger girl's purple opals with her own. "It's lucky I got to you first. You should always start with the history of the instrument, or you can never truly appreciate its worth."

"Oh... I didn't know that," Angelica mumbled feebly. "Um... When are you going to teach me, though?"

"Hold on one moment." Claes shoved her book into Angelica's hands and shuffled out of the room.

Silence. 12:16 kind of silence.

Angelica waited, and waited. Whatever Claes was doing, she hoped that the bespectacled girl would return soon. The spacious ballroom was very creepy, even when enhanced eyesight allowed her to see the more distinct aspects of a room drenched in darkness.

The wooden doors rumbled, and the ivory-skinned nymph's ears picked up on Claes's harsh whisper from behind them. She gave a tiny "oh!" and ran over to them.

"Angelica," the voice hissed, "open the doors. My hands are full."

"Okay."

And she did. And before Angelica's eyes lay the strangest sight she beheld the entire course of the evening.

Laden in Claes's arms were many, many books, so many in fact that they obscured the girl's face to a certain extent (you could only see the top of her head). Angelica released the object in her own hands and began grabbing titles off of the stacks, and unloading them onto a nearby decorative table.

"Where did you get so many books?" she inquired, glancing at Claes.

"From my room, the other room, and the library," Claes enunciated, dipping down and snatching the dropped book swiftly off the floor. "But mostly from the library."

"Impressive," Angelica murmured softly.

"I haven't actually read them all," the dark-haired girl said. "But there are also instructional ones offering diagrams and whatnot. Books for beginners, intermediates, and experts, though I expect Henrietta is somewhere on middle ground. Let's see here..." She walked over to the table and cocked her head sideways, examining the titles critically. "You'll start with this one. The one I've read." She lifted it from the top of one stack, and offered it to Angelica. The other girl took it, and read the title aloud: "_La Storia della Violina_."

"A nice, simple history to start with." Angelica glanced back up at Claes, who had taken out her own book and was reading it as she leaned against the wall.

"Do I...read it now?"

"Mhmm."

"...It's going to be a long night."


	6. VI

**SYMPHONY VI**

"Ange! Angelica, wait a second!"

"Huh?"

It was past midday in the Agency's courtyard and Angelica was only just strolling back to her new dormitory, cradling three hardcover books against her chest and a jet-black pistol in her hand. She stopped and turned around in time for her Henrietta to catch up to her. The mousy brunette's gaze seemed penitent, and Angelica didn't understand it until she took cognizance of the fine, polished violin in her fellow cyborg's hand.

"I'm _so_ sorry I didn't show up last night," Henrietta said fervently, as if expecting Angelica to retaliate at her. "I...um... I fell asleep."

"It's okay," Angelica mumbled blankly, looking a tad taken aback while her eyes still lingered upon the wooden instrument in front of her. "Is...that your violin?"

"Yep!" Henrietta beamed. She glanced at the books imploringly and added, "...What are those for, Angelica?"

"Ah, these... Claes gave them to me. I met her in the recreation room. They're books about violins." Angelica lifted one just enough for the title to show. "I read them inbetween breaks."

Henrietta frowned quizzically. "Did you have practice today?" she inquired.

"Yes, why?"

"Today was supposed to be a day off for the cyborgs and their supervisors."

"Oh..." The dark-haired girl appeared unshaken and not very dismayed at all by Henrietta's news, and looked to the sky in an act of possibly evaluating the weather conditions. The day was perfect as it got, however; the ivory-colored clouds overhead obscured a blazing wintry sun and dampened the surrounding world with a clear, gray tint. She was suddenly aware of how chilly it was.

"We should go inside, I'm cold," she said, closing her eyes and shivering as a small breeze picked up. It would have been stronger, were it not for the Agency's fortress-like buildings surrounding them.

Henrietta, who had shrank back in fear, now eased once she realized that her compatriot was sort of blissfully unobservant over the obvious fact of the matter. "That sounds good," she replied, and the twosome walked back to the cyborgs' dormitories together.

When they were just outside of Henrietta's dorm and preparing to bid each other goodbye, Angelica lingered, as if a silent battle played throughout her mind.

"Wait here for a moment," she told the puzzled brunette gleefully, and nipped inside her own room (which formerly belonged to a now-deceased girl that she didn't recall ever really knowing personally) to grab her violin. When she returned, Henrietta was still waiting for her by the door.

"What is it?"

Angelica's cheeks turned a pinkish hue. "Could you, um... Could you..."

The door beside Henrietta's clicked, and the blonde-haired Triela appeared in the hallway, staring fixedly on the ground when her ultramarine eyes trailed upwards. She noticed the diminutive girl's violin and a cocky sort of grin decorated her face.

"Learning violin, Ange?" she inquired, although her tone lacked the normal sort of Triela-esque vibe it normally would have. Angelica nodded.

"Yes, I was just about to ask Henrietta if she could teach me the notes now."

"Well, good luck," she said, sounding somewhat despondent now. "I have to go meet Hilshire at the training field. Says it's 'important'. And I thought today was an off day." With an overdramatic sigh, she departed, and the ebony-haired nymph returned to Henrietta, looking positively jubilant.

"So? Will you teach me right now?"

The brunette shifted her feet. "I'm sorry, Ange, but Giuseppe told me to go to bed early. We have to prepare for a mission to Monreale tomorrow and then leave."

The young girl's hopeful air seemed to die out dramatically at Henrietta's words. She frowned, looking almost close to tears when she asked, "So...what should I do?"

"Well, um, you could ask Triela for help. She knows how to play the violin." Henrietta beamed. "I don't know if she'll have any time to teach you, though. She's been a little busy."

Angelica perked up. "I'll ask her!" She glanced down the corridor. "...When she comes back."


	7. VII

**SYMPHONY VII**

Sitting on the ground with her legs cradled against her chest, Angelica sighed, watching a russet sunset outside the window. She was entirely alone in the corridor, hearing the sounds of Henrietta moving about inside her bedroom, preparing to sleep (_they must have an important, energy-consuming mission coming up if Giuseppe wants her to tuck in_ this _early_, she mused). Her opal eyes fell upon the violin across her knees, steadied by her left hand. She ran her fingers over the wood, admiring its smoothness.

"Maybe..." she murmured, lifting the bow and observing it as it lolled in the air. Some amusing part of Angelica's mind related it to a magic wand. "Maybe... I could do it myself?"

She paused, pondering this silently.

"Yeah, I think I can," she smiled confidently for the first time in what seemed like forever, and brought the bow over to the strings. Unfortunately, none of the books Claes had given to her were of any help when it came to describing the actual mechanics and sound the violin exudes — at least, not any she'd read yet.

She drew the bow down, slowly. As she did so, a sickening, horrible shriek that was not at all how the instrument sounded when Henrietta played it echoed around the hallway. Regardless, Angelica continued scraping the strings, closing her eyes and attempting to recall a nice melody she was sure she'd heard before from a violin. She focused this thought into her bow, as if trying to will it to 'play better'.

A nearby door clicked open. Angelica froze when Claes stuck her head out, looking moody. She drew her spectacles down, eyeing the untalented musical player. "What in God's name are you doing?" Angelica was reminded once more of a testy librarian.

"Uhmm... P-playing the violin."

"I listened. That wasn't a violin you were playing."

Angelica's cheeks turned rosy. Diverting her gaze, she replied, "I...didn't think it would sound so bad. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. How come Henrietta hasn't taught you how to play it yet?"

"I, um, tried to ask her, but she has a mission in Monreale tomorrow."

"Ah." Claes paused, folding her arms and considering the raven-haired child for a minute. "Say, Angelica, how much have you actually read of the books I gave you?"

"Um... I'm almost finished with one." She beamed brightly.

"Then let's review what you know."

"Huh?" Angelica stared, blankly. "Review...?"

"Well, you won't be very busy while Henrietta's in Monreale, will you?"

"Not unless Marco wants me to do some more training. He mentioned the obstacle course, but I don't know if I'm ready for that yet."

"_Venire_, then," she beckoned. Obediently, Angelica got to her feet and followed the girl inside her dorm. She settled down in one of the chairs, watching the steam rise loftily from Claes's teacup as she began:

"In what century did the violin arise in?"


	8. VIII

Angelica stumbled out of the dormitory, checked the clock hanging on a nearby wall, and frowned.

"It's three A.M.," she sighed, backing up against the wall and putting her palm to her forehead. As the words passed her lips, the clock chimed, signaling that it had just turned 3:30. She slid down to the floor, her sable dress pooling beneath her, and drooped sideways, bringing her left arm over her side carefully with the violin along with its bow clasped gently in her hand. She looked towards the direction of her own dorm, pouting. "I wonder if I can crawl to my door."

It sounded stupid to Angelica, but she was so exhausted that it seemed like the only plausible alternative. She gave a feeble, anti-climactic wiggle that only drew her closer (she supposed) by only an inch. So, getting precariously to her feet, she braced the wall and walked towards her door, eyes half-closed, and grasped the frozen handle.

"I hope this is it..." With a click, it swung open. She toddled inside and closed the door behind her, smiling.

And, with concentrated effort, she walked to her single bed and fell upon it, not even bothering to change into her nightdress.

**SYMPHONY VIII**

Amber sunlight filtered inside the small dormitory, reflecting off the immaculate alabaster sheets that twisted around Angelica's form. She groaned, shifting her head into her pillow.

"Mm... Perro..."

Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbows, looking around the room blankly. "P...Perro?"

She brought her hands to her face, feeling the tears as they fell, and her eyes broadening in bemusement. Wordlessly, Angelica dried her face with her pillow and got out of bed shakily. The room felt colder than usual.

Somebody knocked on her door. She walked over and opened it, rubbing one eye blearily and yawning as she gazed upwards and flinched under Marco's critical eyes, who looked none-at-all too pleased. He held a sleeveless white tee and a pair of navy shorts folded in his arms.

"S-sir," she mumbled, trying to look attentive but utterly failing.

"It's one o'clock in the afternoon. You slept through breakfast and morning target practice. Why?"

"Huh? I-I did?"

"Don't be an idiot," Marco spat. "When did you go to bed?"

"I...might have fallen asleep at 3:41 A.M.," she replied, tentatively fiddling with the hem of her dress. "It was 3:30 when I'd last checked."

Marco sighed, muttering to himself. Angelica could barely make out what was being said, but after catching a few instances of 'useless' and 'waste of time', her expression darkened. She felt guilt pool inside her like rain to an arid basin.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, tone candidly apologetic. Her handler watched her skeptically for a moment, testing the truth of her words, before shoving the clothes so roughly into her arms he nearly knocked her down with his force. Angelica stumbled, but kept an eye on his condensing look.

"Get changed into those. You're doing the obstacle course today."

He departed. For several seconds, the black-haired child stood blankly in her dorm, still staring at the place where her mercurial handler had been just a minute ago. She observed the shadows created by her windowpanes on the door and, with a jolt, remembered the task set to her.

"Marco will probably be more mad at me if I'm late," she muttered, hurriedly getting changed into her more 'sporty' clothes, discarding her dress, socks, and Mary Jane shoes on the floor beside her bed. With her white hair tie between her teeth, she hurried to her dresser desk and fastened her tresses into a neat ponytail, jogging in place buoyantly as she did.

With the tying of her athletic shoes, Angelica turned and faced her closed door, a look of pure determination on her features.

"_Farò del mia meglio!_"

It took several minutes before she even made it to the bottom floor of the cyborg 'warehouse', listening to the repetitive thumping of her feet on the ground. The wind chill was extraordinarily cold; Angelica felt as though her legs and arms would freeze off before she ever got past the indoor shooting range. She glanced to her right and then to her left, trying to recall where exactly the obstacle course was located at, when she noticed a mop of fair hair that was fast approaching.

Rico came into view, carrying an Amati case. She smiled jovially, and raised a hand in greeting. "Hi, Ange!"

"Rico!" Angelica gasped. "H-hi! Where's the obstacle course at?"

Rico paused, ruminating over the other cyborg's query. Angelica waited on tenterhooks, jogging persistently in place as she had done in the dormitory, red-faced and 'huffing it'. After several minutes, the blonde replied, "...I don't know."

Her face fell. "You...don't?"

"Uhmmm... In fact, I kind of forgot what I was doing. How are you?" Rico smiled pleasantly again. "They had really good vanilla-flavored yogurt for breakfast this morning."

"Please," Angelica pleaded, "Could you at least point me in the direction of the range? Marco's going to be upset if I'm late..."

"Oh, it's over that way." The blonde indicated a path, which Angelica started on immediately. Glancing over her shoulder, she gave a hurried "thanks!", and disappeared from sight.

"No problem," Rico replied, waving. She paused, and a look of sudden realization crossed her face. "Oh! It's lunchtime. That's what I was going to do..."

● ● ●

Angelica arrived to the obstacle course at (she assumed) 1:45. She came to a screeching halt in front of Marco and doubled over, panting. Marco glared at her holding an umbrella above his own head. A drizzle had set in, which Angelica was sure was to become a downpour in the next few minutes. Once she finally finished catching her breath, she straightened up and looked at Marco, her eyebrows contracting worriedly.

The bespectacled man took out a stopwatch from inside his coat and held it up to his protégée's face. "Complete the course as fast as you can. You'll be timed on it. I won't tolerate any failure."

"Yes, sir!" she replied. The course looked daunting, shrouded in the light mist; some part of her wished she could climb back into the warm, soft covers of her bed and sleep a little longer, but that was entirely impossible by that point.

"Get ready in five, four..."

She walked to the climbing wall and stared upwards, consequentially getting hit in the eye with a raindrop. It was so cold...

"Three...two..."

Angelica gulped uneasily.

"One!"

"Yes, sir!" she shouted, grasping the outcroppings and clambering up haphazardly. As she reached the top, her limbs already seemed frozen; with great effort, she heaved herself down the other side and landed somewhat weakly. She pounced back to her feet and paced towards the next wall, repeating what she'd done before. Somehow, the second seemed even taller.

By the third, she began to tire, when she heard her handler's voice from below: "Hurry up!" Glowering, Angelica skidded down the side and through blazing downpour. The sheets of rain smacked against her arms like icicles and her hair and clothes were utterly soaked; the only thing she could stand to think of was why Marco decided to have her do this outside, in shorts and a tee, on a less-than-favorable day. Was it to make her stronger…? She'd lollygagged in her training but it was hardly her own fault, and she was trying to make an effort with the violin.

She slammed into the ground, yet that was no debilitating factor, and continued trudging through the merciless cold until she bashed her knee into the front of a balancing beam on accident — but the absence of pain kept her from wanting to cry. Grabbing the sides of the narrow beam, Angelica vaulted herself onto it and jogged across.

"_Oh no!_"

She gave a shriek as her foot slipped out from under her, throwing her into the beam and bruising her arms and face. "Ah..."

Tears clouded her eyes like the ones that'd been there when she woke up as she lay still, rain lashing her violently from the clouded gray sky. With what seemed like considerable effort, the cyborg stood, glancing around the area. Even with enhanced vision, she could barely make out any specific persons nearby. In front of her was another wall, this time with a climbing rope instead of outcroppings. She walked to it and held the rope tightly, tugging it a few times for measure before bracing each side with the muddy bottoms of her shoes, and started pulling herself up, slowly.

"Why is this...s-so...hard?" Angelica muttered. Her feet slipped, leaving her dangling helplessly. "_Aieeeee!_"

At what seemed like a great distance away, she heard Marco's voice again: "Move it, Angelica..."

She began pulling herself up with her arms. As she reached the top, lightning crackled overhead in a spectacular show, lighting up the curtain of nonstop water, followed by a thunderous boom. Angelica mounted the edge and slid down the other side, her feet sinking into the muddy earth...

● ● ●

After three more obstacles, she sighed in relief, sitting precariously at the end of the final balance beam, the rain now a hilariously weak drizzle. Angelica pulled her shoes and socks off her feet, wringing out the latter, when Marco approached, still looking relatively dry, the umbrella over his head.

Maybe it was the combination of mud, wetness, bruises and cuts on his cyborg's arms that made his expression soften — but all he could manage to say was:

"Good effort. Go take a shower."


	9. IX

Angelica awoke on the floor, bed sheets wrapped and twisted around her body like a tight cocoon. As she managed to pull one of her arms out, she saw the cuts still visible on it, a clear reminder of intense training session two days ago — yet Marco's final words of good swelled like a balloon in her chest, figuratively lifting her, and she squirmed and finally sat up. She looked around the dormitory and found it to be eerily still. The balloon seemed to have been popped by a bobby pin, and she was now more apprehensive than anything else.

She walked to the curtains and pulled them back. The sunshine did nothing to ease the mood of the room; instead, they cast shadows against the walls, and one, Angelica noted, which was reminiscent of the silhouette of a human being. She examined the weird, dark figure, and could've sworn it twitched, revealing a long braid.

"That's... That's silly," she said to herself, shaking her head slowly but still keeping her eyes locked on the mysterious thing that had invaded her room. "It's probably just a shadow from the chair." She moved and pushed her desk chair. Nothing happened to the shadow. Starting to feel more at unease, Angelica went over to her dresser and wrenched open the drawers, but the figure was still.

She couldn't help feeling anxious. Deciding to bolt to the cafeteria stat, she threw on a simple black dress with slight embroidery and a pair of matching shoes and departed swiftly through the threshold and into the hallway.

**IX**

Once outside, she immediately heard a familiar voice call to her. "Ange!" She shrieked and fell backward in surprise. When she looked up, Henrietta towered over her, brows furrowed in misunderstanding. "Eeh? I'm not going to hurt you..." she said.

"...Oh. Oh! Henrietta. Hello," Angelica greeted cheerfully. The brunette held out her hand and helped the fallen Angelica back to her feet. "You're back early, I thought you would be gone for a week. How was the mission in Monreale?"

Henrietta nodded, replying, "It went well... What did you do while I was gone? Did you practice at all?"

"Uhm, not especially," Angelica admitted sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I was really busy."

"Oh, no, it's fine, you don't have to apologize!" Henrietta said. "Then what did you do?"

"I stayed up until three A.M. talking to Triela and Claes in their dorm the day you left... Then Marco made me do the obstacle course."

Henrietta gasped. "At three A.M.?!"

"No, no. Later that day."

"Oh..."

They fell silent. In Angelica's opinion , there was something a little peculiar about how Henrietta was acting — then again, she wasn't exactly in her right thoughts either. That shadow might probably still be in her room, waiting for her to return. And, much as she didn't want to admit it, she was too scared to even take a look.

Henrietta smoothed out the front of her skirt, now somewhat pink in the cheeks as she addressed her next matter of discussion. "Umm... Would you like to have breakfast with Giuseppe and I?" she asked.

Unsure, Angelica replied, "I...guess so? I might have to ask Marco first, though..."

"I don't think he'll mind," the brunette said, finishing with a smile that seemed to contain more hidden connotations than Angelica wanted to know. _Maybe she thinks he'll say no..._

------------------

Angelica approached the center of the parking lot tentatively, glancing around hurriedly for any sign of Henrietta. When she caught sight of the little brunette waving to her from a lovely-looking Porsche, she darted to it, terrified Marco may see her from the handlers' building, which happened to be (and unfortunately was) situated directly in front of their meeting place. She accidentally slammed into Henrietta, only knocking her off-balance by a bit.

Regarding the older male next to her, Henrietta chimed, "So where are we going to have breakfast at today?"

"I was thinking the Caffè della Pace?" Giuseppe replied, smiling. "Then maybe we could go see the Piazza Navona, if you'd like."

All those places sounded foreign to Angelica. Maybe she went there once before, perhaps ever twice — but nowhere in her memory could she recall any piazzas. Henrietta, meanwhile, gave a exclamation of approval, before suddenly becoming mindful of her proper manners and clamping a hand over her mouth.

Then, they loaded up into the car and departed swiftly through the Social Welfare Agency's gates and on the road.

------------------

The Piazza Navona was like an entirely different world to Angelica. Everywhere she turned, a staple of Italian history stared her in the face — not to mention all the outdoor cafés, street musicians (some of which taught her a few pointers on first playing the violin), and amusing people milling around the square in droves gave it a light, whimsical, and intriguing feel. Henrietta was as delighted, if not more, evidenced by her grabbing Giuseppe's arm and pointing to items of interest. It was clear to Angelica that the brunette had never been here before.

They finally came to their destination after Henrietta spent several minutes fawning over the Santa Maria della Pace church. The café beside it seemed rather packed. As a waitress passed by, she took one scathing appraisal of Giuseppe and said, "We're full. Check back tomorrow."

Slightly taken aback, he replied, "Oh... Alright then. I guess we'll be going somewhere else."

As he and Henrietta started toward another outdoor restaurant nearby, Angelica was suddenly and rather abruptly stopped by a surprisingly strong grip on her wrist. She spun around and came face-to-face with a tall, dark-haired boy who was maybe only a tad older than herself. His grin seemed to friendly, yet denoted a mistrusting nature.

"Excuse me, miss," he began politely. "My father owns several cafés around this piazza, so I figured I may as well introduce myself to you." He released her wrist and instead supplied his hand to her. "My name is Damiano Scutese, though my close acquaintances known me as 'Perro'. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Reluctantly, Angelica accepted his handshake, and let go almost immediately. "M-My name is Angelica. It's...um...it's..."

His smile briefly disappeared, and he took her hand, leading her over to a table of boys, all dressed similarly to him. They each appeared to be somewhat bored of their surroundings, and instantly lit up at the sight of a girl.

The one boy who didn't sport as many dark, menacing colors said, "Oh, hey, Perro. Found yourself a nice girl?" He coughed loudly. "Ugh, freakin' coffee... C'mere, girl. _Comment vous appelez-vous?_"

She struggled momentarily, trying to recall strands of her old French lessons. "_Je m'appelle Angelica...?_" she offered, frowning.

"Oh, how cute! She speaks French. Have a seat. We've been kinda bored here, so you're like the highlight of the day," the blond said, pulling up a chair for her. Not wanting to seem rude, she sat down and took a sweeping glance at the area: Giuseppe and Henrietta were nowhere to be seen.

Damiano, however, remained standing, watching the employees. "Jeez, the staff here are always so negligent. I ought to speak to the owner about this." He turned back to Angelica. "So, where are you from? You look rather Italian."

"Hardly garden-variety, though!" the blond boy piped, and was sharply silenced.

"Ummm... Rome... I live here," Angelica answered, quickly growing red in the face.

"In the piazza?"

"N-no, on the...the outskirts..."

"Oh, huh. So is your family rich?" Damiano questioned, as if it were terribly pertinent.

"Um, I actually... I... Live in a dormitory. I haven't seen my parents for several years, I'm not sure where they are."

"How sad!" chimed a brunet in a hilariously cheap black suit topped with a beret that sat on his head. "Oh, that is very tragic. I will write a poem, and dedicate it to you. Where's my notebook? Evrard, do you have my notebook?" He spoke Italian very carefully, and with a slight accent that hinted at something Slavic being his first language.

"Nah," the blond replied, sipping his coffee and leaning back in his chair. "I think it's in one of your jacket pockets."

He frantically reached inside his suit, and, with a relieved sigh, extracted a book with a pen attached to the spine. He flipped it open to an empty page, grabbed the pen, and with a click, began scribbling. "_Angelica e la Angeli del Destino_..."

"Hah!" Damiano interjected triumphantly, startling their young guest. "That's a silly title. You should get someone who actually knows Italian to write for you, Miran."

"It is a working title. You would know that, Damiano, if you ever dipped your hand in a writer's ink, but I suppose you are far too _rich_ for that."

"Oh, hush," Evrard sighed. "You're father was just a smart investor. You're as good as any drunk's son, so you can't talk."

"Hah! Me, a son of a drinker? My father has not had an alcoholic drink in years since mother died. But I heard from a good source that your dad is having an affair with a _thirteen-year-old girl_. Though I guess drinking is far from pedophilia."

There was a brief scuffle as Evrard launched himself across the table at the brunet, scattering glasses and plates and shattering them on the ground. A burst of screams came from the other occupied tables as people rose and frantically backed away from the scene, and a dog started to bark in response to the violence. Angelica buried her face in her hands, wanting to cry but finding herself incapable of it, when a voice called out for the two boys to cease their squabble.

"Oi, break it up! Evrard, calm the hell down, you're scaring our guest! Miran, stop talking out of your ass!" Damiano shouted. He then turned to the dog. "And you, shut up!" The animal cowered with a small, pitiful whine, and backed up against its owner. Evrard heaved himself up and dusted off his collared shirt, ignoring Miran, who lay on the ground, groaning like a wounded soldier. Angelica peered at the scene through her fingers as Damiano seized the Slavic boy by his lapel and hoisted him up easily. Miran met his friend's steely glare with a smirk.

"You _idiot_," Damiano spat. "You're such a dumbass. We've got _company_ and that makes you decide it would be fun to yank Evrard's chain? Trying some misguided attempt to show off?" He threw Miran back to the stony ground. "Pathetic."

Behind him, Evrard straightened his jacket and then lifted his things from the table. He turned to Angelica. "Nice meeting you, miss, but I've really got to jet. _Salut_." He then turned and began to walk away, not giving her a moment to respond. Flustered, she called after him in poorly-pronounced French, "_Désolée!_"

Miserly, Miran snatched his notebook and pen and left. Before Angelica knew it, she was being tugged up and towards a fountain, Damiano leading her. He sat her down on one of the stony benches, not looking at her.

"I'm sorry about all of that, Miss Angelica," he said, joining her. "Miran's not really my friend — neither of them are, my best friend is vacationing in Switzerland right now and he didn't invite me like he usually does. So I'm stuck in Rome."

She twisted the hem of her dress in her hands and mumbled, "Oh, that's really..."

He held up a hand to silence her. "I don't need your sympathy. You need mine; I can't imagine having to live in a dormitory and then coming outside to be greeted by complete ruffians. You must feel as sick as I do."

"I...guess?" Angelica said. "I really don't mind, it was just a little scary."

Damiano paused, his gaze lingering on her. He smiled. "I like you. You remind me of a girl I had a crush on a long time ago — though I can't for the life of me remember her name right now. It started with an 'A', I think... She was the daughter of a modestly successful Italian businessman and his wife." She nodded in understanding. "But yeah. The business man moved away to, I think, Russia. Father told me to stop seeing that girl after her mother mysteriously disappeared. But enough about them, what are your hobbies?"

"H-hobbies?" Angelica repeated.

"You know, like what things you enjoy doing in your spare time. I like to collect antiques, but I've got allergies so I try not to go inside really dusty shops. I also enjoy traveling — Sardinia is a great destination spot, I've always preferred it to Sicily."

"Oh, um... I'm learning how to play the violin..."

"Really?" His eyes lit up almost magically. "What a coincidence, so am I. Although I don't fully understand why — I already know the piano, the clarinet, the flute, the cello, and the viola. But I suppose one more wouldn't hurt."

Angelica felt her head spin at the amount of instruments with which Damiano was proficient. What a number!

"Erm, Angelica? Are you alright?" he said, leaning in and taking a gander at her face. She appeared to have gone into a state of dizziness so profound that it blocked all noises coming from the Piazza Navona and, most especially, Damiano. She wobbled to the side, nearly falling off the stone bench they shared, and was swiftly caught by her companion's quick arm. She then leaned to her far left, resting on Damiano's shoulder and, apparently, asleep.

"Uh..." He poked her shoulder. "Is she narcoleptic?"

Despite this, he smiled as her breathing eased. She looked so peaceful as she slept. Damiano suddenly felt quite as ease with the world, and slumped a little himself, though with no intentions of resting as the girl beside him did; but things never go exactly as planned, because just at that moment, he felt himself succumbing to slumber. They sat together for a few minutes before he jolted awake. He sat up so suddenly that it startled Angelica out of her sleep with a yelp. She looked to Damiano and asked, "Wh-what's wrong? Where am I?"

"A-Ad..." The name was on the tip of his tongue. "...Adélaïde? No..." He slumped, miserable. "It's useless. I can't remember her name."

Not knowing what to say, Angelica murmured, "I'm...I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replied. "It's my own for having a poor memory. I can memorize how to play five instruments, but I can't remember a girl's name..." He sat up, and grinned at his dark-haired companion. "I hope I don't forget your name, though. If I do, Evrard will remember it for me."

"Angelica? Where've you been?"

A new voice, belonging to a thirteen-year-old brunette named Henrietta, joined their conversation. Laden several shopping bags in her hands with Giuseppe holding the rest, they appeared to have cleared out most of the stores in the Piazza. Damiano perked up at the sight of another girl. In a polite tone similar to that he used when he randomly accosted Angelica, he introduced himself, "Hello, my name is Damiano Scutese, most know me as Perro."

Taken aback by the boy's forwardness, Henrietta blushed, to Angelica's and Giuseppe's amusement. Tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, she replied, "My name is Henrietta Croce, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scutese."

He laughed. "No, no, just call me Damiano! Honestly, I could do without the formalities. I guess you'll go by Henrietta?"

"Y-yes..."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Henrietta. I've just been speaking with your friend, Miss Angelica, here. She's a very nice girl; I assume she's your daughter?" he asked Giuseppe.

Surprised, the handler struggled to reply, "U-uh, not rea—"

"She's well-mannered. You should be proud. Bit of a narcoleptic, though — might want to get that checked out."

Henrietta laughed and, not knowing what other way to react, Angelica giggled along with her.

------------------

Their arrival back at the Agency was later than expected — after bidding farewell to Damiano, Henrietta had insisted on taking Angelica to see all of the stores that they had gone through without her, resulting in Giuseppe buying nearly double the amount of clothes than previously, all in the manner of black dresses and shoes. Their approximate time back at the Agency was at eight thirty-four, and Angelica was now safely within her room, putting her new dresses on coat hangers and organizing the shoes in her closet. She moved somewhat rigidly, constantly looking over her shoulder, and she had both the overhead light and the lamp sitting her desk on to ensure everything was perfectly illuminated.

As she stood on her tip-toes to put away another dress, she noticed something akin to folded paper tumble out. Kneeling and picking it up, she examined the note and an expression of fear and elation appeared on her features.

_DAMIANO 'PERRO' SCUTESE  
3874-687-222  
CALL ME, ANGE_


	10. X

**X**

It was so strange, Angelica mused, how insignificant her violin looked against a grand piano. Gazing at the instruments from her sitting position, an adorably frustrated expression on her features that betrayed her serious assessment of the situation, she made a tiny noise as she titled her head to the side. Triela smiled at her, entirely oblivious to Claes, who abruptly ceased her rendition of Chopin's Scherzo No. 2 and huffed irritably.

"_What are you staring at?_" she demanded, exasperated. Triela hurriedly shushed her, adding in a whisper, "Quiet, she's focused."

Claes pursed her lips and looked back to the keys. "Oh, no, now I've forgotten where I was..."

"Play _Le Cygne_?" Angelica suggested from her station, jolting Claes. Triela took one glance at her roommate's face and then burst into riotous laughter.

Adjusting her spectacles smartly and ignoring the blonde's amusement as it died away in the background, Claes responded, "I couldn't even begin to play that."

Angelica did not reply. She stared more intently at her violin than before.

"Triela, play Bartók?"

"Sure, which?"

There was silence. Angelica hadn't expected her friend to agree, and merely stared unblinkingly at her for several minutes. Triela seemed quite calm, as though she were humoring the younger girl. Angelica closed her eyes and shook her head wildly in an odd impression of a wet dog.

"What should I do? Should I call him?" she worried, opening her eyes and looking around the enormous room nervously. Triela patted her on the shoulder, but retracted her hand swiftly as Angelica shuddered.

Tucking her hand back under her arm, she said, "Ask Marco first. You don't want to make any unauthorized calls outside of the Agency; you could get in real trouble. They monitor all the calls."

"I-I don't want him to know I went out yesterday," Angelica replied, grasping the chair tensely as she envisioned how angry her handler would be when she finally told him the truth. "I never asked him if I could go. Henrietta just took me with her."

"Well, he's going to wonder where you got all the new clothes," Triela said bluntly. She rested her head on the top of the chair and watched Angelica sideways. "Can't hide it forever, you know?"

She nodded, slowly. "Y-yes, but..."

"Just say you missed going outside and Henrietta forced you into it."

"He-he won't understand," she said, shaking slightly. "Oh, I'm scared. Claes, please, can't you play _Le Cygne_? It always calms me down."

Claes sighed. "You know, I never asked you two to sit here and watch me play the piano. _Fine_," she conceded, smoothing out the top of her skirt and resting her hands on the piano keys. The room instantly went hush-hush. Claes cast a sweeping glance at the two girls. "But don't expect it to be perfect," she added.

"Would it help if I hummed?" Angelica suggested meekly.

"No, just be quiet," she replied, a bit more harshly than she wanted.

The drapery hung limply beside the tall windows, a thin layer of barely visible dust covering them as they framed the sunlight that poured in. And yet, as Claes began to play, Angelica felt as though the curtains should start to move themselves, making ripples in the delicate fabric. She wanted to snatch up her violin and play the song with Claes, as imperfect and horrible as it would sound.

"Ange?" came Triela's voice, mildly concerned with a tentative edge. Angelica made no signs of life, except for the tears that had started to issue from her closed eyes. She was slumped over in her seat, her head over the top of the chair, her breathing slowed.

It was over all too soon. Claes's fingers rested upon the final note, allowing it to fade quietly and slowly. Triela began to shake her friend's right shoulder, and said, "Ange? Ange, wake up." Her voice seemed urgent despite her light chuckling. Angelica stirred and wiped her tears away on the ebony sleeves of her dress. She looked up and smiled at her blonde friend, seemingly unaware of her short nap, and Triela sighed, relieved, for reasons that the dark-haired assassin didn't know.

"It sounds much better with a cello accompanying it, doesn't it?" Claes said, staring out the window. "And my solo piano version isn't exactly perfect, either—"

"It was wonderful. Th-thank you," Angelica added as an afterthought.

She could tell Claes smiled at that moment, even with her back turned. "You're welcome. Never ask me to play it again until I have it perfected."

"Well, I've got combat practice," Triela said, standing up and heading towards the door. "_Hilshire's_ probably looked for me all over the place." She rolled her eyes and waved farewell to her friends.

"Bye, Triela," Claes and Angelica chimed in unison, the latter raising her arm but pausing halfway, then lowering it. She 'hmm'ed and twisted her body back to its place, staring into the murky blackness of the piano again.

It was then that Claes caught her attention. She lifted her spectacles just a tad from her face and was rubbing at the corner of one of her eyes. "Claes?"

Claes straightened her glasses and shot Angelica a look. "What?"

"I— nothing!" Angelica exclaimed. "I was...wondering if you c-could teach me to play _Le Cygne_ on my violin. Once I learn the basics."

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

She twisted the corner of her dress in her hands and gazed at her shoes shyly. "I...I don't know."

Claes crossed her arms and smiled again. "Have you been studying?" she asked.

Angelica fidgeted. "Um, not really..."

She had expected Claes to suddenly grow testy with her, but instead, she continued to smile, and Angelica was more bewildered than she'd ever remember being.

"Well, then, are you getting better at target practice?"

"I'm not sure. Marco never tells me if I'm doing good or not. I hope I am."

"Hmm..."

They were both silent for a moment. Claes tapped one of the keys on her piano and Angelica sneezed. When Claes turned to her and stared, a questioning look playing across her face, Angelica replied quickly, "They-they never clean this room, huh?"

"I suppose they don't... But I'm just glad I have somewhere I can go where I'm alone. The dust doesn't bother me," Claes said. Angelica nodded. "But it would be nice if it were a little cleaner in here."

"...Yes," Angelica agreed, her tone slightly miserable and off-putting as she gazed at her feet and swung them back and forth in a rhythmic motion.

"You shouldn't worry yourself over that boy you met," Claes said. "Just don't do anything drastic and you'll be fine. Alright?"

"Mm... Okay."

"Good, then. We'll pick this up next week," she said, and with that, began attempting Scherzo No. 2 once more.

------------------

It was only ten o'clock in the evening when Angelica returned to her dorm room, exhausted. She felt a wave of gratitude wash over her once her door finally closed with a click, then slumped into the middle of the room, at a loss over what to do. Outside, she could hear the footsteps of her fellow cyborgs, most returning from dinner in the downstairs cafeteria to the comfort of their beds and, to a select few, their roommates.

But Angelica's room wasn't equipped for two people. It was smaller than Henrietta and Rico's and contained only a single-person bed, not a bunk. She often wondered who had lived in it before her — if anyone — and maybe if they had been lonely. She wasn't exactly an emotional person, as feelings sometimes hit her at inopportune moments, yet in retrospect, there always seemed to be a sense of unease in her bedroom. From the first time she stepped foot inside it, something was amiss.

She walked over to the mirror sitting next to her dresser and looked into it. She knew she smelled like gunpowder — it had been Marco's idea to drag her off to the indoor shooting range as soon as lunch was over, and that was exactly where she remained for several hours. Her head still reeled with the sound of bullets being fired repetitiously.

"...Tired," she concluded, and then stumbled to her bed and fell onto the comfortable, springy mattress, into a land of white sheets and soft pillows. She opened her eyes and found the corded telephone sitting on her end table, then recalled the cellphone number written on a tiny piece of scrap paper. She kept it in one of the drawers inside her dresser, hidden between her favorite brightly-colored sweater and a white button-up shirt.

Perhaps her judgment was clouded that night, because she got up and went over to her dresser, opened the second drawer from the top, and searched for the phone number. She extracted it with sleepy triumph written on her features, and tottered awkwardly back to her bed. She then stopped, staring hard at the words written clearly on the paper.

"Perro..." she mumbled. "Damiano... Perro..."

She lifted the phone off the hook and gazed at it in her hand. "Why would they give us phones if they didn't want us to use them...?" she reasoned, smiling. Inching closer to the end table, she brought her right arm over and started to dial his number.

The phone buzzed for a minute, and then picked up. Angelica sat upright, feeling anxiety and nausea impact her simultaneously, as a voice she recognized said, "_Sì?_"

"H-h-h-h-hello..." she answered, voice quivering. The person on the other end seemed to burst with joy. "Ah, Angelica, it's you! I didn't recognize the number calling — because there wasn't one! My caller I.D. just said 'private number' on it. How are you?"

"I-I'm fine, is this Damiano?" Angelica asked, although she knew the answer.

"Yeah," he affirmed. "Are you calling me from — where did you say you live? A dormitory?"

"Yes. But I can't talk too long, I just wanted to let you know I—"

"Listen, Angelica, I'm going to be in Napoli, visiting my grandmother for two weeks," he said sharply. "During my stay, I'm going to switch phones. I'll be back in Rome for a short time, I margin maybe three days, and I'll be staying at a hotel in Parioli. In the meantime, I'd like to know if maybe we could meet at some point so I could give you my new number."

"I...I don't know," she replied. "I'd have to ask m-my han— _brother!_ I have to ask my brother if he could drive me there." She had started to fidget with the hem of her dress, when a knock sounded from her door. She squeaked, pulled the phone away from her ear, and, covering the receiver, called, "Just a minute, please!"

She brought the phone back up and cut Damiano off mid-sentence. "I'm so sorry, what were you saying?"

"I-I was saying," Damiano began, tone slightly apprehensive, "Couldn't you just get your father to bring you like he did before?"

"Ange?" came a muffled voice, tentative.

"_Eeeeh..._" Angelica whined, watching the door. She wasn't quite sure what 'eh' meant, but it seemed to sum up her distress very well. "Um, Damiano, I have to go now, can I call you back, ummm... Tomorrow?"

"Sure, I was about to retire when your call came in. Have a good night."

"Y-you, too. _Buona notte_."

She hung up with wild ferocity, almost smashing the phone into its cradle, before bolting to the door and opening it. Her eyes fell upon Henrietta, hands neatly behind her back. The small brunette was noticeably worried, and it showed in her question. "Are you all right, Ange?"

"I-I-I-I-I'm fine!" Angelica lied, her voice higher than usual. "Uhm, Henrietta, have you ever made a phone call?"

"No," she responded, head tilted and her finger poised by her mouth thoughtfully. "Giuseppe told me not to without his permission and I've never known anybody's phone number. I know Triela's talked on the phone in her room, though."

She suddenly stopped. Her eyes seemed to widen to extreme proportions as she gazed at Angelica, and her lips were slightly parted as she came to a horrifying realization. Angelica promptly covered her mouth with her hands and squeaked, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to call him!"

"Wh...wh...who?!" Henrietta burst. "Not... Mr. Scutese?"

Angelica regretfully nodded.


End file.
